The Autumn
by Spellbound
Summary: A century ago, revolution brought Kyrria a bloody dawn. As poverty and despair builds, some will rise for the wrong reasons, but some will remain standing strong, fighting to hope that no matter what happens, a new season, a new beginning, is near.
1. Prologue: Fragments of History

**Rated T for possible violence in later chapters.**

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><p><em>Dear Mandy,<em>

_I have sent this letter with the most trusted of our messengers. I am sure you know the current situation we are in, and only hope that you can come as quickly as possible in order to preserve a part of our family. I cannot stop my tears; Char has gone, and I feel as if everything is lost. Frell has fallen into the hands of Alkador, and I can see his men marching towards us from the tower window. I must go, Eleanor is crying again, and they are battering at our gates. This will be my last letter to you, my dear Mandy, my only hope is that you may bring little Eleanor to safe hands. It will be difficult, I know, for Alkador has many spies and resources, but Eleanor's safety is vital. You know what kind of man Alkador is; the power-hungry traitor will only plunge our kingdom into despair. Perhaps someday you may tell Eleanor her story, and lead her and her descendants to restore Kyrria to it's former glory. But before then, do whatever you must to protect her. I trust you completely._

_My love,_

_Ella_

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><p><em>King Alkador overthrew the late King Charmont of Kyrria a century earlier, in 1539, proceeding to officially take the throne in September the same year. King Charmont and his Queen are confirmed to be dead, but the body of their daughter, Eleanor, remains undiscovered, and is rumored to have survived, though such theories remain unconfirmed. Court scribes during that time have described the country to be in a state of ruin, with unkempt streets and starving citizens, while the King and Queen remained removed from their countrymen, enjoying a stylish and expensive life in Frell. Since the revolution led by Bemus Alkador, however, Kyrria flourished under the rule of the later King Alkador, who is an ancestor of the current Queen Sybil.<em>

_Extracted from A History of Kyrria_

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><p><em>PRINCE EDWARD TAKES IN BEGGAR GIRL: NEW EDITION TO THE ROYAL FAMILY<em>

_Prince Edward, husband of Her Royal Highness Queen Sybil, extended a hand of hospitality to a young beggar girl of 7 last night, who was caught with a band of city pickpockets. The intentions of the Prince remained unknown, but a member of the royal guard let slip that the Prince intended to give the girl a title, but raise her away from his family. "I suppose he pitied the girl", the guard said, "She's too small to take part in criminal actions; she might have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time."_

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><p>It was a dark night, soaked in drizzling rain; the moon seemed reluctant to shine as it hid behind thick grey clouds. Soon, a storm would hit, one that would later said as the largest thunder storm Kyrria had ever seen, purging the streets of Frell, removing the dirt and grim and despair that had settled upon the city. People came out to the city streets, standing in the pouring rain, wondering if it indeed signaled a change in their fortunes. Whispers carried, but only the brave dared to truly hope for a new start after a century of misery and poverty.<p>

And it was during that night that the cry of a newborn infant rang from a lone shack a little ways from the slums of Pakka, a small town on the outskirts of Frell. And when the baby girl opened her gray eyes for the first time, her mother, Eleanor, closed her eyes and smiled, feeling that at last, she could die in peace, knowing that her daughter just may be that ray of hope that would bring justice to the world and restore their family honor.

Two days later, a plump fairy came to the shack, and was seen leaving with a bundle in her arms. When a kind lady called on the young but desperately poor lady of the shack, she was shocked and horrified to find the lady lying dead in her bed, her lips curled in a knowing smile.

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><p>"And pray tell why I should take her in? I have no place to house such a baby, nor is this any place a lady should be brought up in!"<p>

The wizened old woman stood at the door with her arms crossed, glaring at the plump, hooded figure. She glanced back inside the house, at the group of drunken thieves singing loudly at her table.

"I trust you are a smart lady, missus,"the hooded figure stated, "you should know a special person when you see one. As long as you keep her safe and bring her up in a decent way, she will be prepared to go her own way when she is ready."

The old woman studied the bundle before her cautiously. Though trapped in poverty and forced to reside with local thieves, the woman was wise and had befriended some gnomes in her early years, learning much from them. She gasped. "She's... is she not...?"

"Yes." The answer simple, as the figure placed the bundle in the woman's arms and promptly disappeared into the heavy fog.

"I name you Isabel."

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><p><strong>I'm still working on the plot, but thought I'd post the prolouge and the first chapter first, and see how people like it. Suggestions on improvements and how the story should develop are very very welcome! Review Review!<strong>

**Disclaimer: I do not own Ella Enchanted, or any of it's characters.**


	2. The Killing

**The Killing**

"I win. Again."

"No way! You just got lucky!"

The dark haired girl raised an eyebrow. "For the third time?"

"Fine", the boy sighed, flinging aside his wooden sword. "I gotta go anyway. Mom's in bed and I need to make sure my brothers don't kill each other." Without waiting for an answer, he set off running, nimbly dodging the crowds of people on their way to the market, perhaps picking a few pockets along the way.

Isabel shrugged at his retreating back and bent to pick up her practice sword. Rhys had been her best friend, her _only _friend, ever since she was taken in by Prince Philip, or just Philip, as she called him, at the age of seven. After years of spending time around thieves and pickpockets, and eventually going with them on their various jaunts around town, she had developed quick reflexes and very fast running legs – all which helped her beat Rhys at every sword fight. He still bested her at arm wrestling, though, but her excuse was that, well, he was, after all, a _boy._

These past nine years were what she considered the best in her life. After her aged caretaker, Somina, had passed away, there was nothing more for her to call home. She hung around the band of thieves she gradually became familiar with, and though often beaten, they had developed a kind of understanding between them, meaning, Isabel acted as a distraction as other members stole, and the thieves, in turn, provided her food and shelter. Her acquaintance with Philip, however, was different. She looked up to him as the only true guardian and sole model in her life, and he cared for her as the daughter he never had. He brought her such love and warmth as she had never encountered, and he was everything she called home.

Isabel was raised away from the royal family, _Philip's _family, by request of the Queen, as Philip told her. Not because she wasn't wanted, he said, but because she was different from them, and had led a different life; she may not be able to get accustomed to the many rules and restrictions that would no doubt disagree with her free soul. Consequently, she had never met any member of the royal family, nor set foot in Frell, instead spending a somewhat quiet life in Pakka. She did not wholeheartedly believe Philip's reason for keeping her away, however, she just thought that the Queen simply did not want to let what would be called "street scum" into the castle, as she had gathered from Philip's many stories over the years that the Queen was a proud and strict sort of woman; and she was right. But Isabel didn't care either way; Philip was right, she wouldn't have mixed well with the court anyway.

Nine years spent in a small wooden house with occasional visits from Philip had tamed the girl, though her stealing habits hadn't been completely wiped. But Isabel thought herself reasonable; as long as she stole from the "filthy rich", as she called it, a moneybag here or a few coins there would never do any harm. The rich had hounded too much money; they could afford to share.

Isabel too started towards the other side of town, where she resided in her little wooden house. The house was rather simple and unfurnished, but it was cozy and she had every comfort she could want, for she never wanted much. Remembering that Philip had promised to meet her at home, she quickened her pace, but continued looking at every direction through the crowds for a duke or baron that cared to grace their presence in the small town. Spying a immensely fat and richly dressed man stepping of his coach and wrinkling his nose in disgust at the smells rising from the open sewers, she quickly brushed past him, and continued on her way home, her pocket heavy with a bag of clinking gold KJs. The noble never noticed a thing.

"I'm home!" She announced, ten minutes later, stepping through the wooden door, eyes searching for a familiar figure.

"I've been waiting!" Philip stepped from the kitchen and moved to envelope Isabel in a hug. Isabel giggled, clinging to him and inhaling his special sent of peppermint and a sort of herb she had never known the name of.

"It's been a week, Philip! I've missed you so much. Do you have any stories of the castle?"

"Well, Roland attempted to go hunting in the rain; something to do with a bet between him and his brother. The horse slipped in the mud and the boy fell flat on his face! You could imagine the scolding he got from his mother after that..." Philip rambled on, describing the doings of the royal family. He had the gift of storytelling, placing the stories in front of Isabel's eyes and pushing her imagination to soar so that she too could see Roland and Darren racing down the banisters, the Queen shouting in the most dignified way possible, Philip meeting with the gnomes and elves, and rumors of a fairy that graced her presence within court, disappearing in a flash of white light before their eyes...

"Say, what's that jingling in you pocket?" Philip stopped abruptly and looked at Isabel, who had fidgeted slightly, causing her stolen coins to clink together.

"I... uh... found something in the gutters on my way here."

"Oh. And did 'finding' involve bumping into some noble and snagging that 'something' from their pockets?"

Isabel reddened. Philip knew full well about her pick-pocketing habits, and though he scolded her occasionally, he had yet to forbid her completely.

"Er... something like that."

Philip sighed. "I thought we had this conversation before. Actually, many many times."

"I know..." Isabel let her voice trail of, hanging her head and feigning dejection and regret. This conversation was almost routine to them, every time she was scolded, she would lower her eyes, and Philip would laugh and take pity on her and pardon her, though he too knew that she wouldn't blink twice before snatching another coin bag next time. Philip secretly accepted Isabel's actions, not just because he loved her, but also because he understood the resentment Isabel and most other citizens had against the pompousness of the nobles who fancied themselves well above others and carried themselves with grandeur and pride.

Philip grinned at her show that he knew all too well. And, as always, he decided to play along.

"Aw, Isabel, don't cry. I know you feel awful for your actions as well. Provided that you don't do it next time... Well, I guess you are pardoned. For now."

Isabel brightened immediately. "Thank you!" She laughed, springing towards Philip.

Philip held her off. Smiling at her, he said, "Glad to see you've gotten over your mistakes. Now, I have to return to the castle, this week's been quite busy; I still have plenty of business to attend to, not to mention that annoyingly persistent ambassador from Ayortha..."

"Weren't you the Ayorthaian prince? Surely to your own countrymen..."

"Well, that ambassador's an exception. Ever so formal and pompous, believe me, I think he's the only reason I agreed with my parents to marry Sybil and come to Kyrria!"

Isabel laughed and waved goodbye as Philip stepped out from the wooden cottage, promising to return in a week, after he had gotten rid of the Ayorthaian ambassador.

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><p>"Are you sure everything's ready?"<p>

"Yes, Commander. Lionel just finished going over the plan with the assassination team, and our troops have long been prepared for march."

The Commander raised his spyglass and observed the Prince leaving the cottage. "Good. He will return a week from today. Judging by his arrival time today, we should act in the morning, before the girl comes home. I know her life patterns. And I do not want innocent blood spilled any more than necessary. The girl will only be in the way. Understood?"

"Completely, sir."

"Very well. Make sure you remind Lionel that the assassination team's mission is only to gain access to the house and overtake Philip without any commotion. Stealth is of the utmost importance. I would like to end the _king_ myself. In the meantime, send the man ordered to observe the doings of the royal family to me ready with a report."

"Yes sir."

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><p><em>A week later.<em>

Isabel hurried along the streets under the cover of her umbrella, oblivious to the cobblestones made slippery by the pouring rain. Well, that proved to be a mistake. With a surprised "whoop" her legs gave out under her and she landed in a puddle on her bottom.

Laughter sounded behind her. "You okay? I'm not surprised though. When have you ever been careful?" Rhys bounded into view, his mop of raven black hair plastered to his scalp, and offered her an outstretched hand, blue eyes twinkling. Isabel slapped his hand away impatiently, "I'll get up on my own, thank you very much. Now, if you don't mind, I'm in a hurry to meet Philip at home."

"Wait, I'll come with you! I'm on my way home anyway..." He trailed of, staring at Isabel's leaving back, shrugged, and he too set off picking his way through the people, running home.

One of the reasons Isabel and Rhys were such good friends was because they lived so close to each other, with Rhys' shack situated at the bottom of the hill where Isabel lived. Isabel had run straight into the boy on her first venture out of her new home, and after a minute of sitting on the ground and rubbing their foreheads, Rhys burst out laughing, his laughter causing Isabel to giggle as well. His laughter was contagious, and his temper mild and teasing, making him the perfect friend for the strong-willed Isabel. Both Philip and Rhys' mother encouraged their friendship, and many a time did Philip pay visits to the constantly sick peasant woman and her many sons, bringing much needed food and supplies.

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><p>Philip stood at the stove, brewing Isabel's favorite broth. The past week had been hard on him, and he wanted nothing more than to spend the day in carefree laughter and stories so that he could put away his worries of a rebellion that was whispered to be stirring, or the 108 farmers who had surrounded the castle in protest of too high taxes.<p>

Sometimes, he just wanted to get away.

Though Philip was a kind, noble and caring man, he had no love for his Queen, and viewed ruling Kyrria solely as a duty to be fulfilled. He had no passion for ruling, but he was a soft man, and gave in to everything the Queen ordered, just to maintain peace within his family. Sybil, on the other hand, was fiercely protective of her country, and fought to set things right in her beloved country after decades of tyranny. But she had not the experience nor the skill to successfully govern Kyrria, and though she tried her best, Kyrria's state only worsened, much to the people's displeasure.

Rain continued to pour outside the window, and Philip glanced outside for Isabel, only to see a group of men trekking up the hill through the mud.

A chill ran down his spine.

Ten minutes later, the door lay in the mud in splinters, the house was overturned, and Philip was bound to a chair gagged. Nothing was heard in the slums at the foot of the hill; the noise of the sudden attack was masked by the booming thunder overhead.

"Take off his gag. We have no need for it now."

A man silently removed the cloth and left Philip spluttering and coughing. "Barnan," he breathed eyes wide with shock, "I should have known you would be hungry for revenge. I should have told Sybil long ago exactly who you were and where you came from."

"Yes, you should have." The Commander chuckled. "People always do have a habit of regretting their actions before death, don't they?"

Philip paled. "D-Death?"

"Surely you would understand that I can't have you alive and singing out my secrets after you found me out, can I? Not to mention, you _are_ the Prince of Kyrria, someone who must die in order for me to claim the throne. Rest assured, your family will soon join you."

"Ah, so it's not just for revenge, is it? _You_ are behind the rebellions. Your true intentions are much less noble than you make it out to be."

The Commander whirled to face him. "It is my rightful place," he snarled, "_I _should be the King of Kyrria, it is in my blood."

Philip made no answer, just merely stared at the pale face and bulging eyes. The Commander saw his stare and grinned. "Remember, _Prince_. Remember yourself as the first to die for the glory and justice of Kyrria!"

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><p><em>There's a sent of smoke in the air<em>, Isabel thought, as she approached the top the the hill, _something's not right._

The cottage came into view, and Isabel's fears were confirmed. The door lay ripped from it's hinges, and pairs of muddy boot prints trailed down the other side of the hill. The smell of burnt food and dirt was overwhelming.

Isabel rushed into the house, her worst fears confirmed.

Philip lay before her, eyes open in horror, a dagger protruding from his chest.

Her protector, her savior, her hero, her prince, was dead.

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><p><strong>Updates may not be very often, since it's summer, and I have camp to go to, and the SAT to study for, and other places to go... But review first and tell me what you think of this first!<strong>


	3. The Dawn

**The Dawn**

_"Omf. "_

_ The slim girl forced herself over the castle wall and landed hard on the ground, breath momentarily knocked out of her. Bruises were sure to form on her knees the next day, but that didn't matter. Because, for the first time in her young life, she was _free.

_ Staggering to her feet, she set off across the grounds towards the road that would lead towards the rest of Frell, the city she would one day call her own. That was a prospect she was not looking forward to._

_ The darkness of the evening had settled upon the city, but Frell was ablaze in lantern lights that dotted the streets and houses. Shouts and cheers carried far in the crisp air, and groups of people gathered in the streets; the fun had just begun._

_ The girl pushed her way through the crowded central square, eager to see what she had been denied for the fifteen years of her life. A raven haired boy stood at the center of the crowed, brow furrowed as he concentrated on his show. With a sudden whoop, he conjured dozens of ribbons from nowhere, tossing them into the air, showering the people. The audience laughed with delight, and the girl was enchanted._

_ Barnan was known for his little tricks, and though everyone knew he possessed no magic, no one doubted his skill and cleverness. The girl watched on, face glowing, long after the end, until all else had drifted away, trying to muster the courage to go up Barnan._

_ "I-I liked your show", she said shyly, almost surprising herself. She wasn't that kind of person. She wasn't timid, she didn't stutter, and she certainly did not get nervous._

_ Barnan, on the other hand, was amused by this richly-dressed girl. "Thanks", he replied, enjoying the blush that crept up the girl's cheeks._

_ "Are you done for the night? Would you care to show me around the city?" The girl blurted out her questions as her blunt and fearless nature returned to her, being eager to make a new friend that was not a maid, a lady, or a noble. _

_ Barnan laughed, a deep rich laugh unsuited to his age. He enjoyed this girl, liked her abruptness and her cultured accent and the fresh scrapes on her hands, hinting that this girl, was different. "Of course. I would be pleased to make your acquaintance. ", he said, mimicking her fancy language. "Pray tell, what is your name?"_

_ The girl smiled, not minding his teasing. Now that they were friends, there would be plenty of time for joking in the near future, and she reveled at the thought. She curtsied, lowering her eyes._

_ "My name is Sybil."_

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><p>Isabel trudged down the hill in a fury. Sorrow hadn't set in, not yet. She had left Philip in the cottage. There was nothing she could do for him, not anymore. Nothing but revenge.<p>

Somebody would find Philip sooner or later, but she had no intention to report the death nor attend his funeral. Authorities would only hinder her, and funerals were for saying goodbye, letting go, moving on, and Isabel was determined to find his murderer before she let him go. She owed him that, at least.

She glanced at the blade in her hand. She had gone through the cottage, put out the fire on the stove, and uncovered the sword in Philip's room, along with a leather bag he used when travelling. It was a fine blade, a fine tool for revenge. Isabel stumbled in the rain, and it was only then did she realize exactly where she was headed. Unconsciously, she had been walking towards Rhys' shack. He was the only one who could help her.

"Isabel! What happened? Why are you covered in blood?" Rhys flung open the door as soon as he heard her heavy footsteps approaching, and took in her appearance with unmasked shock.

Reality crashed in to Isabel. "Ph-Philip… he's dead," she sobbed, suddenly unable to control her emotions, "I found him l-lying in the cottage."

Rhys stepped forward and embraced her. "It's okay," he whispered in her ear, "everything's fine now, you're safe…" His voice trailed off as he led her into his home and showed her to the single bedroom. He didn't know what to say; he was never good with words and could only pat her shoulder as she sat on the bed, shaking. "Mother's out, she'll be home soon, and she'll look after you."

He closed the door quietly, and left Isabel to a deep sleep.

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><p>Roland sat in a cherry oak chair lined with plush velvet pillows. A valet stood obediently behind him and a maid hurried forwards, offering him wine and snacks. He lived in luxury, surrounded by people who waited at his hand and foot, enjoying the best pleasures money could buy. But all the gold in the world couldn't change the piece of news a horseman brought to the Queen a few hours ago, news that his father had been found unconscious in a far-off cottage, found by a local townsmen on his way to visit his neighbor when he noticed the open door and blood tracks stained on the wooden floor.<p>

For days, Roland just _knew _that something was wrong. Rain had poured, unbroken, for three days, flooding the streets of Frell. The magnitude of the storm was said to be matched with just one, 16 years ago. And the rain that had drowned the crops and leaked into the homes of the people seemed to assure Roland that his fears were true: Ever since the rain, his father had not returned, and there was something, small and seemingly insignificant, that kept tugging at his heart, telling him that there would be a change. Soon.

Darren walked into the room, his back ramrod straight and his head held high, the way their tutor had taught them. Roland's older brother had always been the angel of perfection, with his well-kept golden curls and smooth, tidy clothes. He looked in every way a young dashing noble, proud, serious, but charming when the ladies of court were present. And he was heir to the throne.

Roland rose immediately upon his arrival. "Is there any news?"

"He's dead", Darren stated bluntly, "he had already died when the man found him, and the royal physicians just verified the news. Mother's with the scribes now, discussing the most appropriate way to put the news out. She said that she will meet with us shortly."

Silence followed Darren's near monotone voice; Roland collapsed back into his chair with a slight _whoosh _of the pillows. There was nothing to say. His father, the man whom bestowed upon him the most love, was gone. Left, forever. _What was there to say?_

The silence stretched, Darren shifted uncomfortably, but did not break the quiet. Then the doors flew open, admitting the Queen, who swept into the room, as regal as ever. Both men stood immediately, bowing to their mother.

"We are announcing the death tomorrow, the funeral will be held the day after. The murder is being investigated, and in the meantime, I suggest both of you meet with the planner to determine your roles during the funeral and the reception afterwards. You have grown much, and it is time to uphold the honor and responsibility set upon you."

Queen Sybil said this all without interruption,and with the utmost authority. No one thought of contradicting her, nor stating their own views or suggestions on the matter. It had always been that way, and the death of the King did not change it.

Yet Roland felt uneasy about his mother's calm, collected manner. Mourners were not supposed to be like that, it felt unnatural, somehow. The Queen had just lost her husband, a loved one. How could a person, however strong, still act as if a stranger, a commoner, a person wholly unassociated with her, had died? It was true, he had never seen any act of love nor affection between his parents, but they were the King and Queen, he had reasoned, they needed to appear serious at all times. But now his soft and kind-hearted father was dead, and still his mother seemed unaffected, giving not even a worried appearance at the mystery surrounding the murder. She knew something, he concluded, and it made him feel all the more uncomfortable.

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><p>When Isabel awoke, it was nearly dawn. She took in her surroundings warily, trying to make sense of where she was, and why. Then the realization of Philip's death wrenched her mind into reality, and she buried her head back into the pillow, and cried.<p>

She gave herself half an hour before she forced her body to move, to get up, to cross the room and open the door. Movements that used to be thoughtless now required concentration and energy. Sorrow had finally caught up with her, and she felt broken. Rhys and his mother were sitting in the next room, conversing in hushed voices. Both turned their heads upon her entrance, and Rhys quickly drew up a chair for her.

There was a moment of silence, then Rhys cleared his throat awkwardly before asking carefully, "So, how do you feel?"

"I feel fine", Isabel stated in a flat voice, then her eyes fell on the calendar set on the table, and she stood in shock. "What day is this?"

"You've been raging fever for four days" Rhys' mother said gently, "you were unconscious. The fever just broke, so we were waiting for you to awaken."

Isabel nodded numbly, and collapsed back into the chair. Then, as if the thought had just occured to her, she near whispered, " so what am I supposed to do now?"

She hated the pitiful sound of her voice, so different from the flippant tone she was used to.

Rhys cleared his throat awkwardly. "So, my mother and I were thinking, with my four siblings, and little space, this isn't really the best place for you to stay-"

"I know", Isabel cut him off with an understanding smile, "I was planning to travel to Frell anyway. Perhaps I could be a maid or something like that." That would only be her first step though. She had other plans for her future, deaths to avenge, paths that she needed to walk alone.

Rhys, looking relieved, quickly replied, "well, good then, um, I am travelling in that direction as well. The storm drowned our crops, greatly decreasing our income. I need to look for a job to support my brothers and sisters."

For the first time since Philip's murder, Isabel smiled genuinely, delighted with the company of her best friend. "I'm eager leave this town. Let us set off at first light."

The sky erupted in a blaze of pink, as the two friends shouldered their packs and stood in front of Rhys' tiny home. Isabel took the first step, facing the morning light. A new day would come, and with it, new hope. The rain had stopped; the storm was over. The pouring water had washed her anew, making way for a fresh beginning. She was starting all over again, and she would cherish it. Isabel took Rhys' hand, and led him towards the dawn.

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><p><strong>Sorry for the delay, I sort of slacked off for a while... Thank you to my two reviewers, horselover2005 and Ella Granger! Read and Review please!<strong>


	4. The Journey

**The Journey**

_ "Are you really a fairy?"_

_ The girl and the boy sat together on the bare wooden floor, gazing adoringly at the plump fairy sitting in front of them._

_ "Of course, dear. I'm your fairy godmother. I'll be looking after you and your brother, always." Mandy patted the girl's head, then smiled knowingly at the woman next to her. "Little Ella's looking more and more like you by the day, wouldn't you say so, Lady?"_

_ Eleanor too grinned at her little daughter. "She's an Eleanor, it's in her blood. She's just like me, when I was little."_

_ "What about me?" Asked Lance, who was feeling left out of the conversation, "am I not like mother as well?"_

_ Eleanor lowered herself next to her son, hugging him towards her. "You have the true Eleanor spirit, son. I know you will do great things when you grow up. And I wouldn't expect any less from you."_

_ Lance looked up at his mother, taking in her sweet face permanently lined with worry and sorrow, her long brown hair he loved to bury his face in, and her bright green eyes that though seemed tired, were alive with life. He loved his mother more than anyone in this world, more than his best friend, Benard, more than Mandy, more than his sister. _

_The 12-year-old boy had big dreams, fuelled by his mother and Mandy's encouragement, and his own wish to escape the poverty he was born into. He wanted to be a poet and a scribe, and embed his stories and thoughts into history; he wanted to be a soldier, and battle for the country he loved so dearly; he wanted to be a chancellor, and make things better for people so like himself; but most of all, he wanted to bring down the king that brought his mother so many tears and hardships, the king that had imprisoned his family in this endless circle of destitution. _

_ He would do it, one day. He was sure of it. And when the time came, he would bring joy onto his mother's face._

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><p>Three days. For three days the duo had wandered in the forest, sometimes talking, commenting on their surroundings, discussing where to stay the night, sharing their plans and hopes for the future. But for the most part, they walked on in silence. Both were comfortable with the lack of conversation, though, for each had much to think about.<p>

Isabel used the time to plot her revenge, but she did not know who the murder was, nor did she have any idea as to where to seek him out. She could only channel her grief and hatred into vague plans that led into nothingness, thoughts would fly across her mind, each more wild than the next, until she finally gave up and decided to let everything play itself out. And all the while, she mourned her loss.

Rhys too wondered who murdered the king, but he was more aware of where he was, and who he was with. Much time was spent frequently shooting glances at his companion, taking in her soft, doe-like gray eyes, her mouth set in a firm line, her blank expression. Isabel had always been one to guard her feelings carefully, and took special care in controlling emotional responses. It frustrated Rhys, and yet he became more infatuated in her, trying so hard to understand the girl underneath her hard, brittle shell. Maybe that was what had drawn him in in the very beginning.

And so they wandered, having only the slightest idea of where they were going, but nonetheless confident that they would reach their destination, where ever it was.

On the fourth day, they passed a small village buried deep in the forest, and bought some supplies with their remaining money.

On the fifth day, the roads turned wide, and the pair, silent.

On the sixth day, the last of the food was gone.

On the seventh day, Isabel kept her eyes open for edible berries, while Rhys just grumbled.

On the eighth day, Rhys disappeared.

Isabel awoke to the brilliant morning light, and the growling of her stomach. Both of them had gone to bed hungry, agreeing to try their hand at hunting the next day. Squinting in the sun, Isabel sat up and looked around the clearing, looking for her companion that was no doubt still asleep.

The blankets were still there, the pack open, the dying embers of last night's fire still flickering weakly. But he wasn't there.

Isabel waited. Perhaps Rhys had left early in an attempt to satisfy his hunger, she thought, it would be just like him to come back with food to taunt her.

But as noon came and went, Isabel started to worry. Unable to sit still, she took her sword and set off into the forest, hoping to find her friend. The dense leaves covered the sky, admitting only the strongest rays of light into the forest. Isabel searched the woody grounds for the tracks of Rhys' heavy boots to no avail, and walked blindly for what seemed like hours.

She found nothing.

Managing to find her way back before the last streaks of light disappeared, she again studied the clearing in the twilight. Everything was as she had left it, but Rhys was gone.

* * *

><p>The Queen sat alone in her study, pondering over the King's death. Days had passed since the Phillip died, but no matter how she forced herself, she could not muster enough sadness suitable for a woman who had lost her spouse. Because Phillip was never a husband to her, perhaps not even a friend. They were mere acquaintances who just happened to rule side by side for the last twenty years, and when Sybil thought of their unusually distant relationship, she almost laughed at the irony. How funny it was that Phillip, the man who she barely spoke two words to on a daily basis, would be the first to die for her, for the throne.<p>

How lonely was this path she chose! How lonely she was, left to rule alone after the loss of a loveless marriage, how lonely she was, paying for the consequences of a choice long regretted. And how she wished, for more than once in her life, that she were not Queen.

For she had taken a sharp turn on a path she never should have walked on. She was supposed to inherit the crown. She was supposed to rule Kyrria to the best of her abilities, without any hesitation or fuss. It was set long ago, and no one had intended for the facts to change. She wasn't supposed to be the free spirited girl she once was, she wasn't supposed to expose herself to the love and life beyond the castle. Because she had, and that made making the right choice much harder than it should have been.

And now, she just wished she had taken the selfish choice, the choice that wouldn't have made her life as miserable as it were now.

The thought of all she had lost pulled her back into the murder of her husband, and the well-being of the country she gave her life to. She may not be the best ruler Kyrria had ever seen, but she wasn't stupid, nor was she completely oblivious to the disturbances stirring in the far corners of her country. She knew that this murder would be the first of many planned by the rumored rebellion, though she did not plan to let on that she knew. Only the closest advisors could be trusted with the information, but while the rebellion continues to cause trouble under her nose, she would take action. Spies had been dispatched, and her armies had been training since the day Phillip died. She knew nothing of the rebels, only that they could not be underestimated. She had learned her lesson, and did not intend to make the same mistakes again.

For years ago, Kyrria had indeed caught a leader of the rebellion, when the rebels were still weak and disorganised. Phillip's men arrested him while she was in Ayortha, and she planned to journey home as soon as she heard the news, only to find upon arrival that somehow, the man escaped. "He simply disappeared", the guards said, and no one could account for the breakout. Since then, the rebellion had only grown stronger, terrorising the cities on the outskirts of Kyrria, their ultimate destination undoubtedly Frell. The sudden attack in Pakka only meant that they were nearer, that they were coming. And Sybil wasn't sure she could stop them when they came.

All she could do was to be prepared.

* * *

><p>"Sir, she knows the rebellion is behind this. Our contact came to me today and said that the Queen has taken no interest in finding the murderer but instead is investing much gold in training her armies."<p>

"Not to worry, Lionel", Barnan purred lazily on top his chair, "she's scared of us, and she should be. She has more men, but she knows not who nor where we are, and the mystery terrifies her."

"Very well. I think we are ready for our next target then."

"Ah, yes, the High Chancellor. Finish him and see to it that his successor is one of us. We need more people on the inside, if this is to work."

"Of course, sir. Our contact is quite confident that he has much power over the court's affairs."

"Everything is going quite well, don't you think Lionel? Perhaps this royal family of the damned shall truly be brought to the justice they deserved a century ago."

* * *

><p>Isabel lingered in the clearing for two more days.<p>

She didn't, and couldn't believe that Rhys had left her, like so many others had. She didn't, and couldn't believe that she was all alone in this world again, or perhaps she always had been? She didn't know. She didn't want to know.

For two days, she lay under the sky that changed so slowly, sometimes sprawled in the grass, eyes closed, waiting for a familiar call that would pull her out of her worries, a call that she herself could mimic to perfection. But the sound never came. Other times, and more and more often as time passed, she huddled into a ball, curled her body within itself, saving her rare sorrow and feelings of helplessness to herself, her back against the world.

She tried her hardest to put on a strong and uncaring facade, she really did. She didn't know if the show was for the occasional squirrel, or simply to comfort herself, but while she gathered any berries that seemed edible, while she drew her sword upon any stray rabbit, while she sat before the fire, waiting for what she knew, deep inside, would never come, there was a strange quivering in her stomach, a funny feeling of nervousness, the feeling of knowing not what to do when she would finally be forced to face the fact that she would carry on alone.

And two days later, she acknowledged the feeling, she accepted that she would have to carry on by herself.

So when the sun rose, the clearing was empty. There wasn't a life in the world she could rely on anymore.

So Isabel continued her journey alone.

* * *

><p><strong>Last chapter before school starts! Review so I know somebody's reading...<strong>


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